Lightning strikes
by begentle
Summary: Hermione's parents were both victors. In fact, they captured major rebels from the failed rebellion, like Lily & James Potter. Now, Hermione & Harry are both sent to the arena, part of a star-crossed lovers plot that involves more than Hermione's death eater tattoo will admit. But will her plans be ruined when their mentor Ron Weasley takes matters into his own hands?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It's time again.

We line up according to our ages, males to one side and females to the other. I watch the screen project the history of Panem, from beginning to the evolution of greatness. With District 13 long gone, we're all dependent on the Capitol for our magic.

"Hermione, come on," calls Sarah. She tugs my hand and shoves our way to the front of the lines, all the better to see them. "It's almost time."

The Reaping. Only Sarah could be so excited today. Everyone hates her for it, and me by association - after all, we've only had our name in twice, despite our age. When your parents were victors, you're either reaped or pardoned depending on their relationship with President Umbridge. And ours would kiss her feet if they could. Lick in between their toes.

"There they are!" she trills. "Oh, look at them. They're so powerful."

Ron Weasley takes the stage with Nymphadora Tonks and Narcissa Malfoy. The mayor is there as well, but it's Nymphadora Tonks that approaches the microphone. Her bright green hair matches her lips and pants. The rest of her is covered in black leather with spikes.

"Welcome to the 74th annual Hunger Games," she says, voice booming. "As always, ladies first."

"I wonder who it's going to be," whispers Sarah.

"Well, we know who it's not going to -"

"HERMIONE GRANGER."

My face is captured on screen so well, clips of my parents' games playing in the lower right hand corner. I don't know where the camera is, but I smirk and reach out to Sarah, closing her jaw with my index finger. Blow a kiss to the audience as I climb the steps to the stage.

I don't even stagger when the boy's name is read.

"HARRY POTTER."

They're playing very different clips on his screen. Of course he was chosen. Of course we were both chosen, together. Him, anyone but that boy. I would have rather anyone but him. But it could only be him.

Welcome to Victory.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

On the train, Harry and I sit across from one another and promptly ignore eye contact. I've only ever heard of him, seen him in glimpses. His parents were rebels who instigated a rebellion against the Capitol - but failed.

"My name is Ha-"

"I know who you are."

Ron enters the cabin carrying an axe in one hand and his wand in the other. "You two must know the rules by now," he says. "Only three spells work inside the arena - you won't know which, and they certainly won't be any of the Unforgivable Curses - and all weapons are a go. Hold this." He hands me the axe. "Think you could stick that in someone's neck?"

It's heavy. Cold in my grasp. "I think so. My parents both won the games."

He laughs. "Oh, I remember their tapes. But I'm asking you. Been brushing up on how your mother sliced up that boy from District 2? How your father killed his allies, all six of them, while they slept?"

"Or the way they captured my parents," says Harry.

"Oh right," laughs Ron. _"That."_

They both stare at my left forearm, where the Capitol symbol is engraved. I cover it with the sleeve of my robes, although the image of two snakes twisted around a skull will remain imprinted on their minds. Obviously I'm on trial, them facing me. Ronald Weasley, the youngest son of the poorest family in District 3. His victory was salvation.

"What about you, Weasley?" I snap. "Are you going to teach us the way you snapped that little girl's fingers one by one? I mean, I really admired the way you slit your ally's throat and covered yourself in that blood and dragged him around. Caused quite the bit of drama with the hovercraft."

He takes the axe from my grasp and turns it over in his hands. "Granger, I remember you."

"Oh thank god your mind works for _something_. Did you hear that, Harry? Ron remembers us. He doesn't live in this arena fantasy, carrying around his axe."

"I said I remember you," says Ron. "You were that brat with the tattoo at twelve years old. You were friends with my younger sister until your parents found out she was a Weasley."

"Now now, Ronald." Narcissa Malfoy shuts the door behind her and strolls in with a bottle of wine. "This is no way to talk to children on the way to slaughter. Hello Harry. Hello Hermione dear. I am truly sorry you are here."

"Thanks Mrs. Malfoy." With some hesitation, I add, "How's Draco?"

Ron howls with laughter. "Tell me he's your boyfriend, Granger. Go ahead and tell me. I just want to hear you say it."

_"Ronald."_ Narcissa cuts him a stare so icy, I shiver from the memory of once receiving it. "Be quiet." To me, she adds, "He's doing well. He wishes you luck."

"I bet he does." Ron pours himself a drink that he finishes in two gulps. He pours himself another.

Narcissa watches Harry without the restraint of societal normalcy; she examines him like he doesn't notice, from forehead to chin then back again. "Your situation is unfortunate, Harry."

No one says anything. I stop breathing until my head aches. Truth is, no one ever expected Harry Potter to live past the night that gave him that scar.

"Yeah, it is. Imagine how easier it'll be when I stop breathing."

Ron snorts. "I like this kid-"

"They're three years younger than you are, Ronald."

"-I'm getting this one out alive, if it's the last thing I do."

His words weigh down the tension in the room. They're words bordering on treason because Harry Potter is the embodiment of the remaining traces of rebellion, the only survivor and relative of the Order of the Phoenix. For Harry to win is to show that the rebellion cannot be conquered. The spark lives on.

"Well," I say, clearing my throat. "I plan on winning, just like my parents. But I wouldn't oppose an alliance with you, Harry. Good for sponsors, given our parents' history."

"How very generous of you," says Harry. "Don't worry. You can have my weapon once you rip it from my neck."

"I'll let someone else do it for me."

Harry's messy hair covers it from view. I can't see the scar when he shakes his head and refocuses his attention to outside the window of the train. He doesn't change it when the food is delivered, laid out like works of art instead of food for consumption. Dinner is quiet. Only Narcissa and I know each other, so our conversation is centered on what she knew about me from my time with Draco. Ron is stupid drunk by dessert, laughing and failing to get to know Harry. When red velvet cupcakes are served with thick strawberry sauce, he yells and leaves the compartment. Harry takes it as an opportunity to leave, but stops abruptly and curses.

Nymphadora marches into the cabin carrying two potted trees and sings, "Welcome! Potter, Granger, things aren't going to stay PG for much longer, so I figured you needed practice. This'll help."

My tree almost knocks me over, it's so heavy.

Narcissa slams her fist on the table and - "Tonks, you stupid girl, how many times do I have to tell you that this is against the rules?"

Tonks pulls out her wand and sets off a small explosion that litters the cabin with dozens of scrolls. "Check the handbook again, Narcissa, there's nothing that states I cannot present our tributes with a gift that _may_ or may not help them in some form."

Our remaining mentor exits the cabin, leaving us alone with this colorful person.

"Hello Harry! Hello Hermione!"

Don't say anything don't say anything for the love of god do not say anything.

"My name is Tonks and I'll be planning your time before the arena," she says. "If you have any questions, just let me know."

We both say nothing.

"Alrighty then! Let me show you to your rooms. Follow me."

Our compartments are all the way at the end, Harry's first and then mine. When we open the door, I see terrain and mountains and lakes, all blurring by too fast to appreciate. I set my tree down in the middle of the room.

"Was it difficult?" I ask her. "Making sure my name was the only one in that bowl?"

I can hear her sit down at the desk. "No. Especially not with your parents' history. His name was always going to be pulled."

I nod. Try assessing how my remaining days are going to unravel. "I think Ron might be a problem."

"Actually, I think he could help."


End file.
